He had paused before the last loaded word.
Yep that could safely be said to put you at risk of serious harm, Ed thought. You’re on your way to qualifying.
He stared at the peeling floral wallpaper and said nothing, waiting for Harry to continue.
‘Luke and Mark Skinner tried to kill me last night,’ Harry told him. ‘They probably killed Stuart McFadden, they definitely killed Geoff Mekins and that twat Luke was smiling when he showed me a photo on his phone of our Deano just before they killed him.’
Ed shuffled, heart telling him to punch the air, head keeping him in check.
This might be pure investigative gold but gold that would take days of interviewing to ensure it was mined correctly.
If Harry was as good as his word he would need every bit of help the UK Protected Persons Service - all the individual Witness Protection Units now united under one National Crime Agency umbrella - could deliver.
Harry Pullman swallowed and spoke again.
‘I can give you the lot,’ he said. ‘Even the name of the skipper who takes them out to sea when they want to get rid of somebody. Ask Ray Reynolds. He knew about them throwing people over the side, he could just never prove it.’
Reynolds popping up again
‘My boss is outside,’ Ed said. ‘I need to speak with her.’
‘Parker?’ Harry sat up, looking at the door as if Sam was about to walk in.
‘DCI Parker to you.’
‘God if I was 20 years younger,’ Harry letting something crude but exciting briefly shine in his gloom.
‘Even then you couldn’t have punched that far above your weight,’ Ed killing it. ‘You understand once you start down this road there’s no going back.’
Harry sat forward and put his head in his hands.
‘What’s to go back to?’ he said. ‘Deano’s gone, the pub’s gone. I’d be watching my fucking back forever anyway.’
‘Who killed Billy?’ Ed asked.
Harry looked up, shook his head. ‘No idea.’
Ed jumped off the bed.
‘Enjoyed the craic Harry but I’ve got better things to do than hang around listening to your shite,’ he said. ‘You either tell me the lot, or you don’t bother at all.’
Harry pushed himself up off the mattress and moved towards Ed.
‘The easiest thing for me would be to feed you a load of bollocks, tell you what you want to hear, but what’s the point of that?’ Harry was close enough for Ed to catch the stale, sour breath. ‘You’d find out sooner or later it was all crap. I’ll tell you what I know, no more no less. What you do with it is down to you.’
Ed stepped backwards, Harry watching and waiting, no cards left to play.
‘Fair enough,’ Ed told him. ‘But where’s Mat? Has he gone AWOL as well?’
For the first time, Harry Pullman allowed himself a smile.
‘He’s missing alright,’ remembering, enjoying the replay running in his head. ‘Missing at sea, presumed dead. I pushed him overboard.’
Ed turned towards the door, said it was time to move.
‘Why?’ Harry asked, reluctant, wary. ‘It’s sound here. Jeannie would never tell.’
‘And Sam Parker’s been sat outside in a car and I’ve been sat in here,’ Ed told him. ‘If you want to do this, you do it our way or not at all, and the first thing, right now, is your safety.’
Ed opened the door.
‘Move it.’
Harry Pullman was sat in the back of the car behind Sam as she sped west towards the Lake District.
They had stopped and bought him some clothes that fit - a jumper, a pair of cords, a three pack of underpants, three pack of socks and a pair of shoes. They’d kept the receipts. They didn’t buy him a coat. He wasn’t going out. Not yet anyway.
Harry Pullman was well known around the north east and Sam and Ed couldn’t take the risk that he’d be seen with them going into a hotel or recognised by a member of staff.
Harry said he had never been to the Lake District so the likelihood of him being clocked over there was minimal. As long as he stayed in his room and didn’t speak to anyone he should be fine. He would only be there long enough to be interviewed and the Skinners arrested. Once that happened he’d be moved.
While Harry had never been to the Lake District, Ed couldn’t remember how many weeks he’d spent there.
He loved the whole area for different reasons. Meandering around the shops in Keswick and Bowness, walking up Fleetwith Pike and Great Gable, relaxing on the steamers on Ullswater or Windermere.
Ed suggested Ullswater. It was the first lake you came across when you travelled west across the A66 from Seaton St George. It was also very quiet at this time of the year.
The White Lion in Patterdale, nestling under Place Fell, was a typical Lakeland Inn: open fire, real ale, clean functional rooms often occupied by walkers tackling some or all of the coast to coast route, and few prying eyes. Sam knew the pub, told Ed she thought it was perfect for a one or two night stay.
Harry didn’t want anyone else to interview him, insisted it was Ed. That had gone down just dandy with Sue. If staying away wasn’t bad enough, the limited mobile and wifi coverage just ramped up the grief. Fortunately he hadn’t had long to explain. At one point he considered letting Harry talk to his wife to validate the trip, but he thought better of it.
Sam would have loved a couple of days in the Lakes, but there was too much going on in Seaton St George and besides Sue might just turn up. Sam didn’t want any repeat of the humiliating hospital scenes when Ed was injured. Sue had made it crystal clear she wanted Sam nowhere near.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Wednesday 17th December
Sam pushed open the glass door of the cafe, coffee fumes hitting her nose before her feet were over the threshold. The steam swooshing from the machine did nothing to ease the pounding like a steam hammer in her skull.
The drive back from Patterdale had given her a headache that refused to budge, but it had also given her time to think...time to think about the murders, time to think about the kiss with Ed, time to think about Jayne Culley and her revelation about Ray Reynolds.
She was heading to the counter and searching her bag for her purse when she glanced up and spotted Reynolds sitting at a table by the window. A large white cup was in front of him, his head was down, and the pen in his hand was hovering over the Daily Telegraph crossword.
Sam bought herself a hot chocolate and walked over.
‘Morning Ray.’
Reynolds looked up over the top of his reading glasses, stood, and shook Sam’s hand.
‘Hi Sam. How are you?’
He looked around, something that could have been curiosity in his eyes. ‘No Ed?’
‘Not today.’
‘Please have a seat.’ He indicated to the chair next to his, folding up the newspaper. ‘Surprised you’ve got time to pop into these places what with all the dead bodies and gang wars.’
‘You’re well informed,’ Sam said, sitting and lifting the mug to her lips.
‘I know a lot of people.’
Just like Ed, she thought, blowing across the chocolate.
‘Actually I’m glad I’ve bumped into you,’ Sam said. ‘It’s about Ed. I’m worried about him.’
She sipped on her drink.
‘Go on,’ Reynolds said, eyes darting around the shop.
‘I can’t quite put my finger on it, but something’s not right,’ Sam stared into her cup. ‘He doesn’t seem himself but he say’s everything’s fine. I just get the feeling he’s not telling me something, that there’s something preying on his mind.’
Reynolds tapped the pen on the newspaper, watching Sam.
‘He seemed okay to me,’ he told her. ‘Don’t get me wrong, he’s had grief off Sue for years but he can cope with that. Or at least he could back in the day.’
Sam watched the pen, temporarily Reynolds’ drumstick. Nothing too flash. Decent enough, but not worth hundr
eds.
‘You might be right,’ Sam said. ‘Maybe I’m looking for things that aren’t there, watching him too closely. He should have taken retirement like you.’
Sam asked Reynolds what it was like to give up The Job and drank her hot chocolate as he told her how things were different in his day...different society, different expectations from policing, different rules.
It could have been Ed on one of his ‘good-old-days’ rants.
Sam let Reynolds talk before she picked her moment, pushed the chair backwards and stood up. ‘Well I best be off.’
Reynolds got to his feet, glanced around the gathering crowd at the counter and the over-worked barista, and smiled as he shook Sam’s hand.
‘Nice to see you,’ he said.
‘Ray, would you mind, in case I ever want to check in about Ed, could I give you a call? Between you and me.’
‘Of course,’ Reynolds still smiling.
Sam took a notebook out of her jacket pocket. ‘Left my phone in the car. Needed ten minutes without it.’
‘Can’t say I blame you.’
‘Can I borrow that pen?’ Sam bent down and took it off the newspaper before Reynolds could answer.
He gave her his home phone number. ‘Refuse to have one of those mobile things. Managed before they came out, still manage without one.’
Sam smiled. ‘Thanks Ray.’ She turned and was gone.
He picked up the newspaper and put it down immediately. She’d taken his pen.
Ed spent all day in a small hotel room with a DVD recorder and Harry Pullman. They’d told the staff Harry’s wife had left him for another man, that they’d be unlikely to go out.
Harry, grieving for Dean Silvers and feeling the pressure of turning informer, looked miserable. Ed knew every hour he was away the more shit he’d get when he got home. In truth, he wasn’t much more cheerful. Given their cover story, that was fine.
At 5pm Ed turned right out of the White Lion and walked towards Glenridding. He’d told Harry to chill in the room for a couple of hours and then they’d go downstairs and get something to eat.
Ed walked briskly through Patterdale and into Glenridding. He knew Ullswater was on his right but he couldn’t see it, not in this light.
He walked up the driveway of the hotel, through the glass doors, past reception and into the lounge.
Sam was already in the corner by a huge window, a glass of white in front of her, a pint of ale next to it.
In daylight they would have seen the lawn sweeping down to the shore of the lake, the surrounding fells providing an ever-changing backdrop.
‘Cheers,’ he said, as he sat opposite. ‘How was the trip?’
‘Fine,’ she told him. ‘Few of your favourite wagons on the A66 but no real hold ups.’
‘I told you,’ Ed said, jumping on it. ‘More lorries than you can...’
‘It was a joke,’ Sam stopped him. ‘Don’t even go there. How have you got on?’
Ed told her they needed to move tomorrow, that Harry was getting cabin fever, even wanted to go and help in the bar.
‘That’s why I can’t stay long,’ Ed said.
Sam said she would give him a lift back when they had finished their drinks.
She sipped her wine, giving an approving nod to the excellence of the Burgundy. ‘So what’s he said?’
‘Enough for a novel,’ Ed told her. ‘We’ve got a shed-load to do tomorrow. Get him moved and passed onto somebody else to interview. He’s fine with that now but he’s given us so much already you’ll need a full team on it. The Skinners are finished.’
Ed picked up his pint and swallowed a couple of mouthfuls.
‘There’s enough to start rounding people up as soon as the staff’s sorted but it’ll need plenty of planning.’
Sam said she would get on it, said he had done well to get so much out of him. She didn’t tell him she’d seen Ray Reynolds that morning. Twice. Twenty minutes after she’d walked out of the coffee shop she’d returned to give him back his pen.
‘Wait there,’ Sam said, standing up. ‘I’m going to see if they’ve got a room here tonight.’
Ed looked up. ‘Why? I don’t think...’
Sam bent down and put her hands on the table. ‘You’re not the one who has to drive home tonight, back across in the morning and then back to Seaton again.
‘I drove back last night but why? Just to spare Sue? I know she gives you a load of shit about me but forgetting one drunken snog there’s nothing going on so grow a pair and tell her, instead of expecting me to trail backwards and forwards across the country just to save you some earache at home.’
She pushed herself away from the table, turned on her heels and headed to reception.
Ed glanced at the other customers scattered around the lounge. They all looked like they’d been happily married for years and they had all cast eyes in one direction at Sam’s raised voice. They hadn’t missed a word.
Ed could look embarrassed or front it out. He chose the latter. He shrugged his shoulders and smiled at his new found audience. They all looked away.
Sam walked back in, grinned at the barman dressed in black who nodded and smiled, and sat down.
‘Sorted,’ she said.
‘I’m surprised the job will sanction this place,’ Ed told her. ‘Must cost an arm and a leg.’
‘It won’t and it has,’ Sam was still grinning. ‘I’ll pay. I’m not bothered. I’ve got a room with a balcony and a view of the lake.’
Sam leaned forward. She whispered but the words still seemed loud and he was worried others could hear, even if Sam was back to business.
‘Does Harry know anything about the murders of Scott, Pritchard, van Dijk or Billy Skinner?’
Ed matched her, keeping his voice low. ‘He says not.’
‘You believe him?’
Ed answered without hesitation. ‘I do. He’s told me about murders going back years, told me the name of the owner of the boat who takes the Skinners out to sea when they need to dump a body.’
Ed leaned across the table, their noses almost touching.
‘He’s scared and out for revenge after Dean. I don’t think he’s lying.’
They both sat back in their chairs and finished their drinks in silence.
As they stood up Ed was tempted to wave to the watchers but thought better of it.
Outside they sat in Sam’s car, engine running, heater on full.
Sam lit a cigarette. ‘If Pullman isn’t giving us anything to progress our murders, then tomorrow I’ve arranged for him to be passed onto Organised Crime.’
Ed nodded. It was the right move.
Harry knew nothing about the executions of Scott, Pritchard, and van Dijk, no idea who killed Billy Skinner, and no idea who torched his pub.
‘Which brings us back to Ray Reynolds and Cat,’ Sam said. ‘Not torching the pub, but the rest.’
She put the car into gear and pulled away, thinking about Reynolds.
As she drove up the small incline into the White Lion car park she warned Ed not to get into a session with Harry.
‘We don’t want him pissed and shouting his mouth off in a small Lakeland pub,’ she said.
Ed made the Scouts’ sign, opened the door and stepped out.
Sam put her hand on the passenger seat and peered up at him.
‘I’ll get Organised Crime here by 8am for Harry. I’ll pick you up at 8.15. Play your cards right and I might treat you to breakfast.’
She pulled the door shut and drove away.
Sometimes you just had to wait.
Thursday 18th December
Sam pushed her knife into one of the perfectly cooked Eggs Benedict. Ed put brown sauce around the Lakeland Full English.
Sam had been in the restaurant earlier, sweet-talked the host into giving her a table in the window with a view of Ullswater.
Harry and Ed had just wanted coffee at 7.30am. The Organised Crime Unit were early and Harry was keen to get away.
&nb
sp; ‘Too quiet here for me Ed,’ he had said. ‘Too much time to dwell.’
‘They’ll have to relocate him to a city not the sticks,’ Ed said now, chewing a small piece of the spicy Cumberland sausage. ‘Put him somewhere like this and he’ll swing back to Seaton St George quicker than a boomerang.’
They had both seen people relocated who, for all sorts of reasons, decided living under threat in your home town was better than living anonymously where you were completely alone. Not everybody had it in them to adapt.
‘I don’t know whether I could do it, wherever they put me,’ Sam said.
The waiter topped up her coffee.
‘What’s on the agenda today then?’ Ed asked. ‘A nice walk and a pub lunch by a roaring fire?’
Sam dabbed the corner of her mouth with the starched napkin. ‘As nice as that sounds, I want to go and see Ray Reynolds. I put it off yesterday because of Harry, but I want him boxing off today.’
Ed sliced through a mushroom.
‘You have an interview strategy sorted?’ he asked without moving his eyes from the plate.
I might have, Sam thought.
‘We’ll sort it in the car on the way back across. For now enjoy your breakfast.’
Chapter Forty-Nine
Ed and Sam squeezed past the Jaguar on the bungalow’s driveway, ten years old but still with a showroom shine.
Ray Reynolds, in blue cords and grey cable sweater, polishing the paintwork around the offside headlight, straightened as he heard their footsteps.
‘Alright Ed,’ he said, rubbing his fingers against the muslin cloth. ‘To what do I owe this honour?’
‘Ray. You remember Sam?’
‘Of course.’ He walked past the bonnet, shook Ed’s hand, then Sam’s. Nothing in the handshake indicated he’d seen Sam yesterday.
‘Come in, come in. I was just about to make a brew.’
‘Car’s looking well,’ Sam said.
‘Thank you,’ pride in Reynolds’ voice. ‘Bought it when I retired. Still as good as new.’
Dark Tides Thrillers Box Set Page 94